Dragons of the Land of Blue
by Oukashou
Summary: A fanfiction taking place within the same universe and timeframe of Aldnoah.Zero, during the invasion of the Earth by the Orbital Knights. This story here does not feature the characters of the television anime, but instead follows an original cast of soldiers on the other side of the world; in America. Here will be told the tale of the Terran Skymarines, and the Versian Dragoons.
1. PROLOGUE - WAR IN THE LAND

DRAGONS OF THE LAND OF BLUE

/ PROLOGUE / WAR IN THE LAND

A mere 15 years had passed since Heaven's Fall, and all the Earth was burning once more. Again. Already. It was almost comical, this situation that befell the world of the Terrans, and yet so mercilessly hopeless. It seemed that defeat was all there was left to feel as life came to an end.

The first Landing Castle of the Orbital Knights touched down in the south of the Remnant of the United States of America, directly into the heart of the aged city of New Orleans. One of the few major population centers to have survived Heaven's Fall unscathed, it's luck had run out. The impact that the Landing Castle caused as it bore into the very Earth was enough to murder hundreds of thousands, and the Versian Kataphrakts that emerged from it gunned down any Terran that could be seen fleeing the city.

The vast majority of the weak, scarred American military was swiftly deployed to the site, where they were all duly slain. The combined efforts of the Remnant Army, the Airbone Mecha Corps, the Mechamarine Corps, and the Navy, they all proved fruitless. Not a single Martian Kataphrakt had fallen before the President of the Remnant ordered a full retreat. In a last ditch effort, the American government expended the entirety of its nuclear arsenal in a strike on New Orleans. Again, there was not a single Martian casualty reported.

The second Landing Castle fell down to the Japanese Isles, and another soon followed in Eastern China. The forces of the Far East suffered the same fate as their American counterparts, and the Japanese government swiftly evaporated into nonexistence. The four Landing Castles that fell to the African continent relished in an even quicker victory, while those who had invaded Europe were viciously locked in a bloody, ferocious stalemate.

There were few bastions left where Terrans lived, unscathed and uninvaded. The British Isles had not yet been targeted, and the Martians had been too occupied ravaging Germany to move on to France and Spain. In South America, the Argentine Resistance proved a most fearsome rat scurrying around the Versian force. What was left of Thailand, Indonesia, and Australia had scurried away to countless Pacific islands, where they hid from patrolling Kataphrakts and moved in sporadic, nomadic patterns to avoid detection.

The final Landing Castle of the Orbital Knights deployed, once again, in North America. In the West of the nation of Canada, atop the city of Calgary. The Canadian forces were defeated swiftly, and forced to retreat East. Rendezvousing with the remains of the American military, they fortified and dug into the Great Lakes region, which came to serve as one of the few remaining Terran sanctuaries in the Western Hemisphere.

They collected refugees and rallied what forces they could, but they knew that their stronghold could not hold forever. They planned to eventually abandon the region and make a break to the East, where they would race to the British Isles. Depending on whether or not Europe remained unconquered by that time, they would either make a stand with them or collect the survivors and retreat to United Earth Forces headquarters in the remote Russian tundra.

It is there, in that Sanctuary of the Great Lakes, where this story begins. Among the few collections of fighters left, there remains about half of the men of the 102nd Skymarine Regiment, a special operations force of the United States Army. Formed after Heavens' Fall, it is one of the few fighting forces left in the world that train in traditional infantry combat as well as Kataphrakt usage. This is due to their specialization as a combat force; they are trained to infiltrate and storm Martian Landing Castles. And to destroy them from within.

The date is 6 weeks after the first strike of the Orbital Knights, in the year of 2014 A.D.

This tale starts in the city of Chicago, which the Skymarines have made their fortress.


	2. CHAPTER I - THE WINDY CITY

/ CHAPTER I / THE WINDY CITY

/ Date / 42 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.

/ Subject / Task Force Mythic, Skymarine Regiment, Remnant United States Army.

/ Location / Skymarine Headquarters, Downtown Chicago, Sanctuary.

Staff Sergeant Anton Vonlanthen split the cap from a bottle of beer and held it up, examining it against the dim ceiling light. It swayed, slowly, from side to side as it dangled from a stretch of old wiring.

"Cold. Alcoholic. Drinks," he said plainly. "That is the one thing I missed about being back in Sanctuary. While the exact intelligence of using our remaining fuel to keep our drinks iced can be debated, there is nothing better than this."

He closed his eyes in anticipation. "I'd take on half a legion more of those Martian Kataphrakts just to be able to do this more often."

He tipped the bottle over and pursed his lips around it. He drank swiftly and with vigor, in audible, hard swallows.

"You get back from a six day reconnaissance op, sir," said Corporal Raymond Tassoni, as he leaned against the rough concrete wall. With his arms crossed and one eye open, he looked with envy at the beads of moisture dripping from the bottle. "And the first thing you head for is the cooler. And you're supposed to be my superior?"

"Yes, in fact, I am. And you better start treating me like it. I don't like that tone," Anton replied, as he licked his lips and stamped the empty bottle down onto the table. He gave a satisfied chuckle.

Master Sergeant Martin Decroix looked up from his workbench. Inspecting the barrel of his rifle one final time, he wiped the gun oil from his hands with a blackened towel. He began putting the weapon back together.

"And what about you, Corporal? You don't have family in the Sanctuary?" he asked as he stood up and stretched.

"No sir," the Corporal responded. "They were in New Texas when the day came. I myself was stationed at Fort Prometheus, with the rest of the Skymarines. I wasn't able to contact them before the Knights jammed the Internet."

Master Sergeant Decroix checked the sights on his rifle. He nodded, satisfied, and laid it to the side. "Have you been checking the logs of the refugee convoys?" he asked.

"Every single one that's come in, sir," Raymond answered.

Decroix stood still, for just a slight moment. He then took his handgun from its holster and began to inspect it.

"... Don't stop checking them, Corporal."

" I don't plan to, sir."

The Master Sergeant sat back down at his workbench and unloaded the magazine from his sidearm. Time to clean it, too. He raised the weapon and drew a bead on the concrete wall.

He tested the trigger, and the slightest, lightest click came out from it.

* * *

><p> Date / 42 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.

/ Subject / Red Squad, Dragoon Corps, Host of Count Aezenacht

/ Location / Aezenacht Landing Castle, Downtown Calgary.

A plucky Martian youth, with curly white hair and a pale complexion, stood at attention. Were his eyes not held tightly shut, you would have been able to tell that they were of a gorgeous, deep violet. He was sweating, and his dress uniform was growing itchier and tighter by every frantic breath.

Count Aezenacht, honored and proud Orbital Knight of the Empire of Vers, eyed the youth from head to toe. He did it once more. He pivoted to the side, his cheek facing the boy, and spat onto the ground.

"You couldn't have any more than 19 cycles under your belt, you boy. How in the world did you ever find yourself in command of a squad of my Dragoons?"

Without opening his eyes, the youth responded back in a frantic, high voice. "M-My automated exam results, m-milord! I was, by the system, I was automatically-"

"Cease your putrid excuses. It does not matter anymore."

The Count stretched his arms to either side and presented himself to the entirety of the Dragoon Corps. The bright white-green of the lights of the chamber illuminated the red of his regalia. "That is the third personnel carrier, filled to the brim with Terran civilians, to escape the metropolitan area this week."

"Another mess of dirty apes, and they slipped right through our fingers."

The Count heightened his voice and pointed to all the Dragoons in the room.

"For what reason do you all believe you are here!?" he roared. His voice was strong and struck fear into the hearts of even the most brutish veterans. He was certainly an Orbital Knight.

"I can not control the entirety of this area alone in my Kataphrakt. It is simply impossible, and one would be the fool to think otherwise. It is also impossible for me to thoroughly search through dense urban streets or underground areas. To solve these issues for me, I have the Dragoon Corps. You are all infantry. The most basic fighting force. The. Most. Primitive."

The Count turned back to the youth with the white hair. His gaze was palpable, and caused the young man to shiver even more fearfully. The Count took two steps towards him, slowly. He took off his white gloves, each with one slow, elegant motion. He stowed them in one hand.

He took a stance, drew his handgun from its holster, and took aim directly at the forehead of the trembling youth.

"This is what happens when you fail me," he said plainly.

With one shot, a bang was heard, and the youth fell backwards hard onto the ground. Blood spurt out from what remained of his head.

Sir Yorvan Kraeyard, captain of the Red Squad of Count Aezenacht's Dragoon Corps, was part of the audience that had been summoned to watch this execution. And he had done so, like all the other Dragoons, without uttering a single world. Without moving, or, it would have seemed like, breathing.

Yorvan took a long look at the corpse of the youth as it laid slumped over on the floor. He stared at it, without blinking. He thought of the brutality of the Count that he served. He thought of the power that this brutality bestowed upon that man. And how he would like to have that power. To feel it, within him.

But he did not move.


	3. CHAPTER II - DANGER CLOSE

/ CHAPTER II / DANGER CLOSE

* * *

><p> Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.

/ Subject / Red Squad, Dragoon Corps, Host of Count Aezenacht.

/ Location / Castle Aezenacht, Calgary.

As he stood on the deck of his lord's Landing Castle, Sir Yorvan Kraeyard watched the snow fall upon the ruins of the city of Calgary. The wind was silent, and so the snow fell in sluggish, frosted drops. Broken asphalt streets, strips of scrap and metal skewering the sky, scattered fields of shattered class, and the crumbled carcasses of skyscrapers filled his vision. The cityscape was coated in touches of white.

"The climate of this world…" he whispered to himself, in a low growl. He slowly raised out the palm of his gloved hand and watched as a snowflake fell to rest on it.

He stared at his hand for a while. He felt the still but crisp chill of the winter air biting at the pores of his skin.

"... Is truly beautiful."

And there was nothing alive in the city to hear his words.

Kraeyard's earpiece buzzed. He heard his lieutenant speaking. "Sir, we have been notified that the Count is to now begin a castle-wide broadcast. Please come back inside."

He sighed, and gave a wordless farewell to the snow. He turned around and pressed his hand against a white-glowing panel in the wall. A door folded down, and he walked from the observation deck back into the quarters of the Dragoon Corps. His men looked up from cleaning their equipment and relaxing to greet him. Kraeyard welcomed back the familiar hum of the artificial heating and the static, artificially filtered air.

A large projector screen switched on to cover the far wall. All turned to give it their attention; it soon displayed Count Aezenacht standing on the bridge of the Castle. He stood tall and straight, with an incredibly cold and dignified expression showing on his face. His eyes, though tired, shone in pale gray-blue, and gave off an air of supremacy and dominance. He began to address the camera.

"As of now, all the preparations for launch have been completed," he said sternly but with vigor. "And the coordinates for a new drop have been calculated. All hands, prepare for launch and re-entry. Batten down all hatches. Ready my Kataphrakt and muster the Dragoon Corps. Castle Aezenacht has acquired a new orbital drop target."

The Count's expression did not change, and the pace of his speech did not falter.

"The Terran city of Chicago."

* * *

><p> Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.

/ Subject / Task Force Mythic, Skymarine Regiment, Remnant United States Army.

/ Location / Skymarine Headquarters, Chicago, Sanctuary

"So, this Prometheus guy. He was a Titan and didn't like how Zeus had made mankind, but kept it in darkness and ignorance and all that shit?" asked Corporal Tassoni. He glanced back and forth between the cards in his hands as he was speaking. He was down, and just about to be eliminated from the game. He had to pull off something awfully amazing to make it through this next hand.

"Close enough," replied Master Sergeant Decroix.

"So he goes and gives the humans fire. And the humans learn how to cook their good, how to warm themselves, how to defeat monsters. And all that cool stuff?"

"That's how the myth goes, yes."

"And Zeus, he isn't a fan of all this? He gets mad at Prometheus, and wants to exact some sweet vengeance on him. So he goes and chains Prometheus to the top of a mountain, and has vultures rip at his flesh for the rest of time."

Corporal Tassoni fumbled around with his cards before tapping on the table. He was checking.

"Correct."

"And this is the same Zeus that everybody worships?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, they worship the people who went after the guy who gave them fire? Zeus, and all the other gods, too. If I'm getting this right, they didn't want to give humankind the ability to make fire. They wanted to keep mankind ignorant and stupid, drowned in darkness, for the rest of time. They want to keep them cold, tired, and undressed…"

Tassoni paused, stopping himself in thought. He shook his head after a bit.

"That's some bullshit, bro," he grunted. He continued.

"So, these gods, they didn't want to give humans the gift of fire. And so, when someone does, those gods go and torture that guy for eternity. And yet, these gods are the ones that all the humans worshipped?"

"What?" questioned Decroix.

"The fucking Greeks, I mean. They worshipped these same gods. These same gods that wanted to keep them cold and stupid, like animals, for the rest of time. The ones that chained the dude who helped the humans out to a fucking mountain. The humans knew all this happened, and they still worshipped these gods? Built shrines to them, prayed to them, praised their names, kissed their feet, all that?"

"Well… Yes, I suppose."

"That's bull. That's all bull. Why would you worship gods like that?"

"Sometimes, you don't get to choose who you worship," interjected a new voice. It was Staff Sergeant Anton Vonlanthen, who was seated across the table. He was studying the cards in his hand.

Corporal Tassoni was startled by Vonlanthen's entrance into the conversation. His voice sounded irritated. "Hm? And what do you mean by that?"

"Sometimes, you are forced into it," replied Vonlanthen. "It isn't about who you want to dedicate your prayers to, or who you feel deserves to be worshipped. That's not what religion is like; that's not what life is like. You don't worship those who deserve to be worshipped. That's not how things are done."

"In reality, worship is different," continued Vonlanthen. "It doesn't matter, not by any stretch of the imagination, who deserves to be praised as a god. All that matters is who is strong enough to become worshipped. Who is fearsome enough to scare the weaker to worship him, who is clever enough to trick them into it. Who is virtuous enough to indoctrinate others with his cause, who is strong enough to force others to align with it."

Vonlanthen glanced slowly at the pile of chips that laid across from him.

"That's the truth to being worshipped in this world. The only way to be worshipped, is to make yourself worshipped. To make yourself seem like something of another world. To appear to be a god."

Vonlanthen took a long look at the Corporal, who had gone breathless. This discussion had gone much deeper than he had wanted it to go, it seemed. The Corporal seemed to be in deep thought, brooding to himself. Vonlanthen glanced around at the other players crowded around the table, studying their cards while listening to idle conversation. He glanced at the other marines, leaning on the walls and sitting on the floor, either watching the card game or reading from old books or listening to music through earpieces.

"However," Vonlanthen said, though it was more to himself than to anyone else at this point. "There will always be people out there who will go against those who claim to be gods."

He studied the cards at the center of the table as he spoke. "No matter how powerless they may seem, how hopeless the situation may seem. When a man claims to be a god, there will always be other men who will resist. Who'll prove that he is nothing but mortal, even if they have to do so with their pained, dying breaths."

Without warning, Vonlanthen thrust his pile of chips forwards across the table, showing no emotion as he did so. "I'm going all in," he declared as he tossed down his cards and replaced them in his hand with a half-empty bottle of beer. He drained from it what liquid that remained.

"Oh-ho! Shit, man! Really!?" roared Corporal Tassoni. That seemed to have knocked him right out of his trance of thought. All traces of his attention returned immediately to the card game. In astonishment, he leapt out of his rickety old chair. "That's all of your rations for the next week and a half, Staff Sergeant! You're gonna lose all of it!"

Vonlanthen kicked his legs up to rest on the table. He continued to stare, with a forlorn expression decorating his tired eyes, at the moisture coating the freshly empty bottle. He replied plainly and simply.

"Am I?"

Just then, the shocks and sounds of a distant explosion rocked the walls of the bunker. Waves of dust crumbled down from the ceiling, illuminated by the dirty, swaying lamp.

Red beacons and lights began to appear, shrouding the bunker in tense crimson. A symphony of sirens and alarms began to roar. The control intercom switched on, a voice bursting out from speakers mounted all around the walls.

"A Martian Landing Castle has been detected breaching the atmosphere. Plummeting at a heightened speed, its target is Chicago."

There was a pause.

"The LZ is calculated to be just off Montrose Beach."

And another small pause.

"I say again. A Martian Landing Castle is en route to Montrose Beach. Sanctuary is under attack. Sortie all fighter squadrons and all Kataphrakt platoons. Skymarines and other infantry forces, muster and prepare for deployment.

"I repeat, target will be danger close imminently. All hands must prepare for battle. Code Zero is in effect. Code Zero is in effect."

For the Skymarines that'd been playing cards in a back room, all this came as a surprise. But they were anything but caught off guard. As they listened to the cacophony of sirens and the appearance of anti-aircraft fire blaring out in the background, they slipped on their equipment and prepared their rifles. They dropped whatever they were doing and poured out of the room.

Staff Sergeant Vonlanthen fastened a communicator to his ear as he lead the Skymarines down the narrow corridor. "Control, this is the Skymarine Regiment. We are oscar mike to the hangars now."

Another large explosion rocked the bunker, causing some of the marines to stumble. The intercom sounded once more.

"The Landing Castle has touched down. I repeat. The Landing Castle has touched down. Fighter squadrons engaging now."

The Skymarines raced up a staircase, and breached out of a cold, green-gray blast door. They stepped outside, where they were greeted by thick, winding spires of snow, and deathly freezing temperatures. The snow had picked up into a storm while they were underground.

This battle was to be fought in the midst of a blizzard.

* * *

><p> Date / 43 days after the invasion of the Orbital Knights.

/ Subject / Red Squad, Dragoon Corps, Host of Count Aezenacht.

/ Location / Above the skies of Chicago, Sanctuary.

"The snow is too thick for optimal flight conditions, Sir," warned the pilot of the carrier. Yorvan Kraeyard heard him from his earpiece.

"That is alright. Just ensure that there will be no problems deploying the Dragoons. What is the status of the Count?"

"Count Aezenacht has advanced and is currently engaging the majority of the enemy Kataphrakt garrison. The Dragoon Corps should be able to drop behind the front line while it is focused on the Count."

"I see. The operation is going smoothly. Notify me once we have achieved deployment altitude."

"Yes, Sir Kraeyard."

Kraeyard nodded to himself and sat back down. He noticed some of the rookies in the carrier fidgeting with their equipment.

"Looking outside… This is intimidating," said a squire with rosy cheeks. "We were never trained for this. Not even told about it. Our dropgear won't malfunction in this Terran weather?" he timidly asked. Some of the other younger men around him were voicing similar concerns.

Kraeyard turned to face them. "Dragoon dropgear was designed to function in the most ferocious Martian sandstorms," he reassured. "This Terran weather is nothing."

Noticing that their commander had taken note of their conversation, the men all ceased their chatter.

"I will warn you all, however," continued Kraeyard. "Proceed with extreme caution during this assault. It will be much more dangerous than the last one, and the enemy will be much fiercer. Casualties were only so limited during the sacking of Calgary due to our posession of the element of surprise. The Terrans had not been expecting a war, and their forces were feeble, unprepared, and unacquainted with battle. Also, the majority of the combat was only ever seen by Count Aezenacht's own Kataphrakt.

"With the invasion of Chicago, things will be much more difficult. The war has served as a filter amongst the Terran forces; all the weak and unfit men are long dead, and only the competent remain. Only those who know how to kill, and who kill very well.

The enemy is better prepared this time. They know now the nature of Martian warfare. How we strategize, how our weapons work, how Aldnoah energy functions. What it is capable of doing. The soldiers of this 'Sanctuary' of theirs are not willing be so easily crushed a second time."

An explosion rocked the carrier from the outside, throwing many of the Dragoons off balance. Kraeyard touched his fingertips to a panel on the side of the cabin, and it slid away to reveal a small window. Through the countless plumes of raging snow, he could spot bright flashes of red and hot orange. The fire from the anti-aircraft batteries of the Terran garrison was growing either more accurate, or more desparate.

Within this snowstorm, there was another storm brewing. A fiercer one. Sir Kraeyard felt it causing his blood to boil. All hell was soon to be unleashed. Heavy looks of apprehension covered the faces of some of the Dragoons. Kraeyard felt his earpiece buzz.

"Sir Kraeyard," called the pilot. "We have reached sufficient altitude."

Green lights switched on within the cabin. They bathed the Dragoons in their sickly bright glow.

"The Dragoons may drop now."

Kraeyard nodded to himself and slammed his fist against another panel on the wall. The door of the cabin began to fold and fall down. Loud, white winds and tufts of snow began to to slip their way in. Sir Kraeyard took a very deep breath, without turning to face his men.

"All Dragoons, on me. For the glory of the Empire of Vers."

He gulped, but did not let it show.

"Drop now."

He leapt out of the carrier and into the sky. He heard his men following him. He plummeted into the midst of the raging storm. Silver air permeated around him in whistling torrents. He saw and felt legions of twisting snowflakes accompanying him in his descent.

With a mechanical blast and whir, Kraeyard felt his dropgear begin to activate. Polished, black metal wings emerged from his back. The gravity cores switched on with electronic tones, and his descent began to slightly slow. He took his rifle from his waist and readied it.

* * *

><p>Chapter III, In the Sky with Dragons, will be out soon.<p> 


End file.
